Recovery changed Gidrick.
Not quickly.
Gidrick Cole was still stubborn.
Still quiet.
Still capable of answering a full question with one word if he believed that one word should be enough.
But nearly dying stripped away some of the armor he had worn since Abigail’s death.
For the first time, Adelaide began seeing the man beneath it.
Three weeks after the fever broke, Gidrick walked outside.
The morning was bright and painfully cold.
Snow covered the mountains in dazzling white.
Adelaide stood on the porch beside him.
“You’re not going farther than the barn.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“If you feel dizzy—”
“I sit.”
“If your head hurts—”
“I come inside.”
“If—”
“Addie.”
She looked at him.
He smiled.
“I know.”
She folded her arms.
“You’re terrible at being a patient.”
“You’re terrifying as a nurse.”
“That’s why you’re alive.”
“I believe you.”
They walked toward the barn.
Gidrick moved slower than usual.
Adelaide noticed but did not mention it.
Near the barn, he stopped.
The fallen pine had been partially buried by snow.
Gidrick stared at it.
“This where you found me?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the cabin.
Then back.
“You dragged me that far.”
Adelaide shrugged.
“I was motivated.”
Gidrick shook his head.
“I don’t understand how.”
She looked at him.
“That’s because you decided what I could do before you ever saw me do anything.”
The reminder was not cruel.
But Gidrick accepted it.
“You’re right.”
They checked the livestock.
The roof damage was repairable.
The animals had survived.
On their way back, Gidrick stopped near the cedar trail.
Abigail’s grave lay beyond the trees.
“Come with me.”
Adelaide hesitated.
Then followed.
They stood before the cross.
Snow covered the base.
Gidrick brushed it away.
“I haven’t talked to her in a long time.”
Adelaide remained several feet back.
“You can.”
Gidrick glanced at her.
“Would that bother you?”
“No.”
He looked surprised.
Adelaide continued.
“She was part of your life.”
“So are you.”
The words settled between them.
Gidrick turned toward the grave.
“I blamed myself.”
Adelaide waited.
“The day Abigail got sick, she wanted to go down to town.”
“Why?”
“She said we needed supplies.”
His jaw tightened.
“I told her we had enough.”
He stared at the cross.
“If I’d taken her down then, we would’ve been near the doctor when the fever came.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
“No.”
“She died because—”
“She died because she became sick during a brutal winter.”
Gidrick turned.
“You weren’t there.”
“No. But I know sickness.”
Adelaide stepped closer.
“I watched my uncle lose patients he did everything right for.”
Gidrick looked at the snow.
“Sometimes people die even when someone loves them enough.”
The sentence broke something open in him.
He covered his face briefly.
Adelaide did not touch him.
Not until he lowered his hands.
Then she stepped beside him.
Their shoulders brushed.
“I thought if I never let another woman depend on me, I couldn’t fail one again,” he said.
Adelaide looked at him.
“Then why did you send for a bride?”
Gidrick almost smiled.
“Because loneliness makes men stupid.”
“That explains the advertisement.”
He laughed quietly.
“I told Finch I wanted someone strong.”
“You told him you wanted someone thin.”
Gidrick winced.
“Did I?”
“You said lean.”
“That sounds worse when you say it.”
“It was worse when you said it at the station.”
He looked at her.
“I know.”
Silence.
Then Gidrick said, “When I saw you…”
Adelaide braced herself.
“I thought you wouldn’t last a week.”
“I know.”
“I thought the climb would exhaust you.”
“It did.”
He looked surprised.
Adelaide smiled.
“I just didn’t tell you.”
Gidrick laughed.
“I thought winter would break you.”
“It almost did.”
His smile faded.
Adelaide gestured toward the grave.
“But I also think you were looking at me and imagining another burial.”
Gidrick nodded.
“Yes.”
Adelaide turned toward him.
“You don’t get to protect yourself from grief by hurting someone before they can matter.”
Gidrick met her eyes.
“I know that now.”
They walked back in silence.
That afternoon, Gidrick moved Adelaide’s cot.
She returned from feeding chickens to find it gone.
She stared at the empty floor.
“Gidrick?”
“In here.”
His bedroom door was open.
Adelaide stepped inside.
Her cot had been placed against the opposite wall.
She stared at it.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s warmer in here.”
“I’ve slept by the stove for two months.”
“I know.”
“Why now?”
Gidrick leaned against the dresser.
“Because I don’t want you sleeping by the stove anymore.”
Adelaide’s heart beat faster.
“There’s still only one bed.”
“I’m not asking you into mine.”
She folded her arms.
“Good.”
“Unless you want—”
“Gidrick.”
He smiled.
“Worth trying.”
Despite herself, Adelaide smiled too.
That night, they slept in the same room.
Apart.
But closer.
Days passed.
Gidrick regained strength.
Adelaide continued running the household.
Their marriage slowly stopped feeling like an agreement.
It became companionship.
Then something more dangerous.
One evening, Adelaide stood at the table rolling dough.
Gidrick sat repairing a leather strap.
He watched her.
She noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m looking.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Apparently.”
Adelaide returned to the dough.
After a moment, Gidrick said, “Why did you answer my advertisement?”
She paused.
“I needed somewhere to go.”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
He waited.
Adelaide sighed.
“I wanted a family.”
Gidrick’s expression changed.
“I’d spent years caring for my uncle. After he died…”
She pressed the rolling pin harder.
“I realized I had no one.”
Gidrick remained quiet.
“Most men back home weren’t interested in me.”
His brow furrowed.
“Why?”
Adelaide laughed once.
“You’re really asking?”
“Yes.”
She gestured toward herself.
Gidrick’s face tightened.
“That’s foolish.”
“You thought the same thing.”
“I was a fool.”
The answer came immediately.
Adelaide looked at him.
Gidrick set the strap aside.
“I mean it.”
He stood.
Adelaide’s heartbeat changed.
He walked closer.
“You think I don’t know what I see now?”
She swallowed.
“What do you see?”
Gidrick stopped across the table.
“A woman who crossed half a country alone.”
Adelaide remained still.
“A woman who works harder than any man I’ve hired.”
He stepped around the table.
“A woman who dragged me through a blizzard.”
Closer.
“A woman who sat beside me for four days and refused to let me die.”
Adelaide’s eyes burned.
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know.”
His gaze moved over her face.
Then lower.
Not with disgust.
Not with judgment.
With something that made Adelaide’s breath catch.
“You’re beautiful.”
She looked away.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need pity.”
“It isn’t pity.”
“You rejected me because of how I looked.”
“I was wrong.”
“You don’t become attracted to someone because they make good soup.”
Gidrick’s mouth twitched.
“It was excellent soup.”
Adelaide glared.
He became serious.
“I didn’t become attracted to you because of soup.”
He lifted one hand slowly.
Stopped before touching her.
“May I?”
Adelaide knew what he was asking.
She nodded.
Gidrick brushed one loose curl away from her cheek.
His fingers trembled slightly.
Adelaide had never seen his hands tremble.
“You’re afraid,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Of what?”
Gidrick looked at her for a long moment.
“Wanting you.”
Adelaide’s chest tightened.
The room seemed suddenly too warm.
Gidrick leaned closer.
Then stopped.
He waited.
Adelaide could have moved away.
Instead, she closed the distance.
Their first kiss was gentle.
Almost cautious.
Gidrick’s hand rested against her cheek.
Adelaide’s fingers curled into the front of his shirt.
Nothing about it felt like the cold arrangement signed at Harland Ridge Station.
When they separated, Gidrick rested his forehead against hers.
“Addie.”
She smiled.
“You’re still sleeping in your own bed.”
Gidrick laughed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
But everything had changed.
The next morning, a rider appeared.
Silas Boone.
Adelaide saw him through the window.
Gidrick stepped outside before Silas reached the porch.
Adelaide followed.
Silas dismounted.
“Cole.”
“What do you want?”
Silas removed his hat.
His eyes moved toward Adelaide.
Then quickly away.
“I heard about the storm.”
“From who?”
“Town. Folks saw smoke after.”
Gidrick waited.
Silas shifted uncomfortably.
“I also came to apologize.”
Adelaide raised one eyebrow.
Silas looked at her.
“What I said before… it was ugly.”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn’t have said it.”
“No.”
Silas cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry.”
Adelaide studied him.
Then nodded once.
“I accept the apology.”
Silas looked relieved.
Then Gidrick stepped closer.
“I owe her one too.”
Silas blinked.
Gidrick looked toward Adelaide.
“I should’ve defended you while you were standing there.”
Adelaide’s expression softened.
Gidrick continued.
“I was ashamed of myself the minute that door closed.”
She smiled faintly.
“I know.”
Silas looked between them.
“Well.”
He put his hat back on.
“Looks like winter changed things.”
Gidrick glanced at Adelaide.
“Something did.”
Silas left.
That night, Adelaide stood outside beneath stars so clear they looked close enough to touch.
Gidrick joined her.
Spring remained months away.
Their original agreement had an ending.
When the snow melts, I’ll leave.
Adelaide thought about that promise.
Then wondered whether either of them still wanted it kept.
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